Page 129 of The Wishing Game

"Well, I hope you'll get what you wish for. I promise I'll try not to die," I joke, since we're all aware I'm the weakest link of our team.

"You will not die," he grits out, his expression icy.

"Of course. We'll win this game. You'll get yourthingand I'll get my husband back, and everything will be perfect." I beam at him. Except my words don't seem to warm him up. If anything, his features are taut, his hands clenched into fists by his side. He stares at me, his nostrils flaring. Before I know what's happening, he stalks toward me, his body rippling with unreleased tension.

My eyes widen, and I flinch just as he stops in front of me, instinctively closing my eyes and waiting for an imaginary blow.

Nothing happens.

He doesn't come closer.

I count to ten in my mind before I creep my eyes open. He's staring at me with an odd expression on his face, his arm hanging midair as if reaching for me but never quite making it.

"We're leaving," he states in a rough tone, his arm dropping to his side.

Grabbing the bag off the floor, he swings it over his shoulder. And with that, the conversation is over. He turns his back and marches forward. Silence descends as he continues to walk, with me trailing a few steps behind him.

His broad back fills my vision as I wonder if I said or did something wrong.

We walk for about an hour before I decide that I don't like this awkward silence. Hopping to his side, I grab onto his arm, looking up at him and playfully batting my lashes.

"Want me to tell you another story?"

He gives me a sharp look, but the subtle wiggle of his brows denotes his interest.

He releases a noncommittal grunt, but I don't know if that's a yes or a no.

"Yes? No?" I ask hopefully. When he doesn't reply, I continue. "If you don't want a story, we can talk about something else," I offer. Ihateawkward silences, just as I hate feeling I said something wrong and upset him.

His gaze dips to me, his lips twitching.

"Why don't you tell me more about that new palace of yours? Did you decorate it? How many rooms does it have?" The questions are out of my mouth before I can help myself. But going by the slight smile I detect on his lips, he's nottoobothered.

"Are you bored, human?" he suddenly asks, raising a brow at me.

"Are you mad at me for something, Sir Sparkles?" Although I meant for it to be a playful question, I fear that my insecurities must have bled through.

"I am not mad at you." He shakes his head.

"Promise?" I insist.

He purses his lips, giving me a long look.

"I am mad at myself," he reluctantly admits.

I frown.

"Why? You did nothing wrong."

"I scared you," he states in a low voice.

My brows shoot up in surprise.

"You thought I was going to hit you," he continues stiffly.

"I-I..."

Reaching down, he catches my hand in his, holding it tight.

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